


GHOST OF A CHANCE

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Challenge Response, Drama, F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-07-29
Updated: 1999-07-29
Packaged: 2018-11-10 23:45:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11137026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: This is part two a a two part series. This story is a sequel to ghost of a chance.





	GHOST OF A CHANCE

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

GHOST OF A CHANCE PART II

 

 

Author's disclaimer: Although the story is mine, it is a work of fiction based on the character of Due South. All Characters portrayed here belong to Alliance. Please do not print/copy/download or send any part of this story to anyone else, other than for your personal enjoyment. Thank you.

Author's notes: This is part two of a two-part story Please read part one of Ghost Of A Chance before you read this one. There is some language and violence that would not be appropriate for younger readers, thus the R rating. Please read on and I hope you enjoy it.

Please contact me at 

I welcome any comments about my story.

 

****

 

 

GHOST OF A CHANCE II

 

By: T.M. Perrymore

 

 

Constable Benton Fraser sat at Kowalski's bedside, his elbows resting on his knees and Stetson in his hands, as the life support machines echoed in the quiet room. He'd watched for any sign, any flicker of movement in his partner's prone features, that Ray was still of the land of the living. It had been almost a week now, since he had gone into the coma from a drug overdose and bad fall from the rooftop of a house they had been searching a suspect for. Fraser's lips thinned and the muscle in his jaw twitched a sign that he was fighting to regain control of the emotions that were threatening to overtake him. He blamed himself for Ray's condition. They should have never gone into the house without backup, even though they only had a hunch Jennings would be inside, he should have listened to Ray and waited. Finding the agents Young and Handler inside was at first a stroke of luck, for they could help in their search, but then things went terribly wrong.

He glanced over Ray's still features, the detective looked so peaceful, and Fraser couldn't help smile a little at the description. Ray Kowalski was probably the least peaceful person he'd ever known. The mixture of incredible energy and quick volatile temper that made up the skinny Detective's demeanor was anything but peaceful. However, Fraser knew the man had a big heart and a gentleness about him that sometimes surprised the Mountie, especially when kids were involved. He was quick tempered and sarcastic, cynical and witty. 

He was very different from the real Ray Vecchio, who almost always gave Fraser a sense of security. His other Ray was never afraid to show he cared, through a smile or a quick embrace or even just a gentle pat on Fraser's shoulder. He understood Fraser wasn't good at showing affection, found it difficult when people touched him, but not with Ray. Ray seemed to sense the longing in Fraser to be touched, to be needed and most of all, to be loved, and had no difficulty showing his understanding, through his words or his actions. Ray seemed unable to read his thoughts at the most crucial moment in a situation and Ray always gave in to Fraser's innocent blue eyed stare when the Mountie was set on getting his way.

Ray Kowalski was none of these, yet he felt a kinship with the young, blond detective that if not as intense, very similar to what he'd felt for Ray Vecchio. He felt a kindred spirit with Kowalski, they both seemed odd balls, or set apart in their individual worlds. Although he'd often refer to Fraser as a 'freak' he knew, somehow, that the detective wasn't saying it to be cruel, it was just Ray's way of expressing himself. They had had some ups and downs in their relationship, Kowalski had even decked him once out of frustration, but he'd been fair enough to let Fraser hit him back, even though he hadn't really wanted to. 

He suspected the detective was bent on proving himself to Fraser, though Fraser couldn't understand why, and he drove himself on his instincts, whereas Ray Vecchio was usually much more reasonable and by the book. Kowalski rarely touched him, unless it was absolutely necessary and seemed to have an aversion to people touching him equal to Fraser's own hindrance. It wasn't that he didn't like being touched, like with Ray Vecchio and the Vecchio family he'd been embraced and hugged often, that was the way they were, but with others it was difficult for Fraser, because he associated touching with closeness and that was something he feared, letting himself get to close to someone. 

He'd seen his new partner go from an easy, 'I'll try anything' phase to threatening violence in a matter of seconds. One minute he was calm as could be, the next yelling and screaming. He could treat one person like pond scum, yet treat another with more manners than even Fraser himself possessed. Fraser smiled, he definitely kept people on their toes, and perhaps Ray preferred that, it was another way of not letting people get to close. Just when he felt he had witnessed all the possible sides to Stanley (Raymond) Kowalski, another side of the man seemed to pop up from nowhere to confuse the Mountie. 

He'd seen Ray's dark sides, and his vulnerable sides. He'd watched the man's determined grace in a difficult situation and the tears that came after, tears he'd allowed only Fraser to see, and unaware how honored and frustrated it made the Mountie. He will cry in front of me, he'll show his anger and exasperation toward me, he'll even lash out at me, but he still won't let me in. They shared cases, causes and meals together. They'd both backed each other loyally in the face of death and injury. They had both explored each other's past and present, yet Fraser always felt Ray was holding something back from their relationship, and for the life of him he couldn't figure out what it was. Now, his partner lay in a hospital bed fighting for his life, and Fraser may never find out what that missing piece is.

"Any change?" asked a familiar voice from the doorway of the room. Fraser tore his thoughtful gaze from Ray's sleeping form and fixed it on Francesca Vecchio. Today she wore a subdued green slack suit, rather than one of her usual spicy outfits.

"Not yet." Replied Fraser, as he stood politely at her entrance, then pulled his attention back to the detective, while Francesca walked over and placed a fresh vase of flowers on the small hospital locker by the bed. The room had already received many flowers and cards from those that knew and cared about Ray, and Fraser suspected the detective would be shocked at the number of people that worried over him. The largest floral arrangement had been from the 27th precinct 

"I'm sure he'll wake up soon, Frase." She assured confidently as she arranged the flowers just so. "He's probably just enjoyin' all this attention so much he doesn't want to show he's awake." Fraser wished for her optimism, but when she turned to look into his eyes, he saw the tears shimmering there.

"I'm sure you are right, Francesca." He offered as he watched her run her hand softly over Ray's pale cheek. She took a deep breath, and he suspected she was attempting to keep the threatening tears at bay, as she gently fingered Ray's hair.

"He's so pale." She murmured and Fraser was uncertain if she was addressing him or just speaking her thoughts aloud. He decided to remain silent for the moment, to see if she would make another comment. "Ya know, even though he wasn't my real brother, he treated me a lot like Ray usually did." She smiled slightly. "Sometimes better, made me miss Ray less with him around ya know?" Fraser nodded; he'd felt the same way.

"Yes." He agreed, "He has a way of making you forget your troubles sometimes." Francesca continued to smooth his hair.

"He liked ta give me a hard time," she admitted grinning. "But he knew when not to." A secret smile played about her lips. "I remember when..." she glanced up at Fraser self-consciously. "When I was gonna get married that time." _When you refused to admit if you had feelings for me and then I thought you were dead, ya creep!_ She added silently, then continued. "I guess he knew I was feelin' kinda down because he showed up at more door one night and said he was takin' me dancing." She smiled again, remembering how he'd brought her a small bouquet of flowers and demanded she get dressed up, he was taking his little sister out for a night on the town. She'd been completely baffled by the delicious looking tux he wore and the disarming rebel grin. 

So, a few minutes later, dressed in her best evening gown, they left to 'paint the town', and paint it they did. They stopped for a quiet dinner at a fancy resteraunt, and then he took her to three or for different nightclubs and the danced the night away. Francesca had never felt so loved and cherished, or had so much fun. It was a side she'd never seen of Kowalski, a softer charming side. The following Monday at the prescient, things were back to normal. He raged her in his usual way and she threatened him with bodily harm, but every once in awhile she'd catch his glance and he'd grin and wink at her, so she would know he hadn't forgotten their escapade.

"I didn't know that." Fraser was remarking, bringing her back to reality. "That was nice of him to do that." Francesca nodded.

"Yah." She agreed with a sigh. "Of course he told me it was simply to keep his cover up. He had to play the part of a concerned brother." Fraser watched the secret smile that formed on her lips once again and suspected Francesca didn't agree with Kowalski's explanation of his actions, but he would keep their secret, regardless of the reasons for it. He was glad for the detective's thoughtfulness, for Fraser was at a loss to help Francesca during that time, for he couldn't understand why she had been so depressed. The words she'd used in the explanation he'd asked for only confused him more, as they usually did with Francesca.

"Perhaps you'll go dancing again." He suggested hopefully. "When he's better." Francesca stared at him for a moment, a demanding, penetrating, stare that made Fraser want to look away, but he didn't. He held her gaze and waited the question he knew was coming.

"Do you think he's gonna wake up, Fraser?" she asked as a tear finally slipped from the corner of her eye. "Do you think he'll be okay?" Fraser finally lowered his gaze, unable to handle the fear he saw in her eyes without showing his own apprehension. He knew she expected an honest answer and he couldn't make himself give it to her. He traced his right eyebrow with his index finger in uncertainty. 

"The doctors consider his chances very slim, Francesca." He offered. How could he tell her the Ray's parents had already been asked to make the decision of keeping their son on life support or taking him off, thus allowing him to die in peace. When Mrs. Kowalski had come to Fraser with their indecision, he couldn't help them. He had informed them the decision was not his to make, even though he desperately wanted to demand they give Ray a while longer, a fighting chance.

"What do you think, Fraser?" Francesca insisted. "I know you'll be honest with me."

"I..I'm still hopeful that Ray will recover, Francesca." He managed, focusing on the sleeping detective's passive features. "But with what the doctors have said, I...I don't...logically believe he will recover."

"Then why are you here?" she charged. "You work all day, then stay here all night. Why Fraser? If you think it's hopeless then why bother? Even his parents have stopped coming for God's sake, so why do you still stay?" Fraser met her gaze and she gasped at the despair that shaded those beautiful blue eyes.

"I can't leave him." he croaked, the threat of tears heavy in his voice. "Whether he wakes up or not, I can't leave him to die all alone, Frannie." Francesca rounded the bed and put her arms around him, allowing her own tears to flow. She could hear the hammering of Fraser's heart, the harsh intake of breath his breath, and wondered what the admission had cost him. He always seemed so cool and detached, so strong and untouched by personal dilemmas, yet now she could feel him physically trembling in her arms. She hugged him as hard as she could and was surprised when she felt his arms go around her to return the embrace. For so long she had wanted to be held by this man, this wonderful, handsome Canadian, and his embrace was all she had wished for, yet her usual romantic utopia was shadowed by his grief and uncertainty. Ray's, her brother and Kowalski, had accused Fraser of being Superman, and at times Francesca herself believed it. But the man she held in her arms now was not an invincible comic book character, he was a flesh and blood human being, that was desperately frightened of loosing his partner and his friend.

"He'll make it, Frase." She promised softly, through her tears. "There's probably no M &M's in heaven, he'll have to come back." She could feel Fraser's smile against her cheek and heard the tiny chuckle that escaped him. She smiled up at him. "He'd never get a decent cup a coffee." Fraser gave her a quick, grateful squeeze and she took the opportunity to tease him. "Oh sure, now ya want my body!"

"Francesca!" exclaimed Fraser turning the color of his uniform tunic and she laughed. She planted a quick kiss on his cheek before he pulled away.

"Does that mean ya don't?" she asked innocently, causing the Mounties's blush to glow brightly against the white interior of the hospital room.

"Francesca." He stammered again, pulling on his ear. "I...no..I mean yes...I mean..it's not..." Again she laughed and surprised him by reaching up to ruffle his perfectly kept hair.

"I'm teasin'." She grinned. "Yer off the hook." Fraser sighed in relief, automatically straightening his hair with his fingers. She glanced at Ray again then back to Fraser. "I've gotta go feed Dief." Again she looked at the sleeping man before them. "Take care of him." Fraser nodded, grateful she was looking after his wolf.

"I will." He promised as she turned too leave. Once she left his sight, he settled back into his chair and continued his vigil. He should have taken better care of him to begin with, and not gone into that damn house at all. Fraser's guilt weighed heavily on him as he picked up the book he had brought and started to read aloud, hoping his friend would hear him, wake up, and tell him to shut up. He smiled slightly and continued the passage.

 

 

Agent Handler walked quietly into the dimly lit room, trying not to wake the sleeping Mountie that was slumped forward in the chair, his elbows resting on his knees. She adjusted the sling that held her injured shoulder, it would come off tomorrow, and approached the bed that held the detective's slim frame. She stared down at him, trying to look past the tubes in his nose that sustained him, past the deathly pallor of his skin and tried to tune out the agonizingly slow beeping of the heart monitor. He looked so weak and frail, so unlike the healthy brash Detective she loved to hate. She allowed herself a small smile, as she pushed a stray golden lock of his hair away from his forehead. 

She regretted her harsh treatment of him and the words that they had exchanged in heated arguments at the house. She had glimpsed a different side of him while he was under the influence of the drug, and it gave her cause to wonder if any of those sides were real. He'd risked his life for her, a woman he hated, and she shook her head. No, a woman he thought hated him. She remembered the pleading look in his eye when he begged her to like him and it haunted her. She understood it was probably the drug talking, he hadn't even seemed to know who he was, but she suspected that the drug hadn't been the influence for his comment just before he'd gone into convulsions on the ground outside the house. He'd said he'd said he would protect her, and he had. Jennings would surely have killed her if Ray hadn't been there. Yet, she couldn't understand how he had gotten outside on the roof, or why. He'd been delusional when she'd left him, how had he climbed down those steep and rotting gables without falling? How did he know where to go, or that somehow she was in danger? He had asked about a girl, but they had all assumed he was still hallucinating. Was there a girl in that house, someone who had helped him out of that garret and led him to where he was needed? She shook her head, too many questions and not enough answers. If only he would wake up, then she would know; she'd understand what had happened out there. 

She spared a look at Fraser, who seemed to be sleeping soundly, though how he could actually sleep in that position was beyond her. She had witnessed such devotion from the Canadian over the last week. She'd never been particularly fond of him, he was too stiff and , well...weird, and she couldn't comprehend how someone as volatile as the detective beside her could ever be partners with the Mountie. Yet, she'd witnessed their loyalty to one another first hand, both in their words and actions, and Fraser had been devout in his visits to Ray's bedside since the accident. She'd remembered the terror in his voice as they watched his partner and Jennings fall, and it shocked her. Certainly she had worried for the detective, but Fraser was usually so calm and cool, his outburst was completely unexpected. She remembered the Canadian's expression as he and Young tried to resuscitate his friend, the plea in his voice that Ray not die. That kind of devotion was hard to find in a friend, and she felt Ray was very lucky to have Fraser, despite the Mounties's quirks.

She had stopped referring to the detective as Vecchio, even in her thoughts, he had at sometime become Ray, and she didn't question the familiarity it lent to her. Besides, she was still confused by his adamant refusal to the use of his last name, while he was under the drug's influence, and that made her curious.

"Agent Handler." Acknowledged Fraser surprised, his voice still slightly groggy from sleep. She nodded at him, stepping back from the bed slightly.

"Constable." she greeted. 

"How long..." he began, starting to stand. She waved him back down.

"Just a few minutes." She lied. "Why don't you go get some coffee." She saw the anxiety in his eyes. "I'll stay with him until you get back." After a moment's hesitation, he picked up his hat and nodded. He was almost at the door when she spoke again. "The Doctor said they'll be taking him off life support tomorrow." She watched Fraser's entire posture stiffen, but he did not turn around. Instead he put his hat on and walked out of the room. She stared after him thoughtfully. She hadn't meant that to come out sounding so cold, and she'd thought the Mountie of all people would have been told. 

She turned her attention back to Ray. "Did you hear that Vecchio?" she asked him. "They're shutting you of tomorrow, so you'd better hurry and wake up." There was, of course, no sign that he had heard her words, but she continued anyway.

"Your partner isn't to please with you, y'know. He's looking rather lost at the moment and I think it's very unfair for you to hurt him like this, but then you never think of anyone but yourself, do you? I was right about you all along, wasn't I? You really are just an arrogant, over-compensating fruitcake with delusions of grander. You're a lousy cop, you'll probably make a lousy angel; if you go that way."

She continued with her tirade. Desperately wanting him to react to her words, move his lashes, flip her the bird, any sign that she could use to keep them from unplugging his life support tomorrow. She didn't even know what she was saying anymore, she just pushed onward, dredging the nastiest, most hurtful things up from the recess of her mind, purging her soul against his stillness. Suddenly she'd stopped and stared at him. Did she just see his mouth move or was that her imagination. She leaned closer, putting her ear close to his lips.

"Did you say something?" she whispered, daring not to hope. Sure enough, she felt his breath against her cheek as she heard the quiet whisper.

"I said bite me, Handler." He repeated hoarsely

She cried out and threw her good arm around him, kissing him soundly, then ran from the room, yelling for the doctor. Fraser was coming down the quiet hallway with two cups of coffee in his hands, as she stormed from the room.

"He's awake!" she crowed at him as she ran to find the Doctor. Fraser stood there for a moment, stunned, unaware that the coffee had slipped from his hands and now lay on the clean, hospital tile below him. He ran to Ray's room and found his partner trying to sit up, grumbling at the many tubes protruding from his body. He'd ripped his inhaler and heart monitor cord off and was working on swinging his legs over the side. Fraser hurried over and pushed him back against the sheets.

"Don't, Ray." He insisted, unable to keep the relief from his voice or the tears from his eyes. "You'll hurt yourself."

"Aw hell, Fraser." He croaked indignantly. "I ain't no invalid, lemmie get this crap off a me." The Doctor came rushing in and immediately began to check Ray's vitals, while Handler and Fraser stood back. Ray swatted at him impatiently. "Yah, I'm alive, now lemmie alone, will ya?" Fraser grinned, he'd never been so happy to hear his partner's complaints.

 

 

Kowalski walked into the squad room of the 27th precinct and paused at the silence that greeted him. Everyone had stopped what they were doing to stare at him, making him extremely self-conscious.

"Somebody die?" he demanded in a cryptic voice. There were a few chuckles and a few gasps, then the officers returned to normal and went back to what they were doing. He hadn't even made it to his desk when Francesca flew into him, almost knocking the wind from him.

"Ray!" she exclaimed, giving him a hug. "You're back!"

"Brilliant observation, Frannie." He grumbled, giving her a quick, appreciative squeeze to take the sting out of his words. Then a little louder he remarked on her physical display. "Ya tryin' to put me back in the hospital, or what?" She immediately released him and grinned.

"Don't be such a baby." She tossed as Detective Dewey approached, holding out his hand to Kowalski.

"Hey, Ray." He greeted smiling. "How are you feeling?" Kowalski glanced at him skeptically then briefly shook his head.

"I'm fine," he replied, raising an eyebrow. "How're you feelin'?" Dewey obviously didn't except the question because he gave them a puzzled frown.

"I'm fine." He replied after a brief pause, "But I'm not the one who was in the hospital." Kowalski scowled, so every one knew he was in the hospital, obviously from the flowers the department had sent, but he wondered how much they knew.

"Yah, well I'll let you go in next time." He joked, giving a quick nod and heading for his desk. He still didn't get close enough to reach it, when Lieutenant Welsh called from his office.

"Vecchio! In here, now!" Kowalski smiled, well, at least some things didn't change. He quickly made his across and entered Welsh's office.

"Yes, Sir?" he asked, as Welsh closed the door to give them some privacy. He watched the large man return to his chair behind the desk before he spoke.

"Detective," he began in a tone that instantly made Kowalski suspicious. "I think you should take some time off." Kowalski tried to keep his temper in check, he'd known this was coming.

"Sir, I feel fine..." he protested, but Welsh raised a hand, silencing him.

"I insist, Detective." he explained firmly. "I know you just got out of the hospital yesterday and I don't think..."

"Sir, I've already had plenty of time off." Ray assured adamantly. "I just wanna get back to work." He didn't bother to mention that his ribs were still very sore, from where he had hurt them during the fall, but he had badly wanted to out of that hospital, he'd already lost a week of his life he couldn't loose anymore.

"Most of that time you were unconscious, Detective." Reminded Welsh. "Now I want you to take at least the rest of the week off to recuperate. I don't want to see you before Monday." Ray's lips tightened and Welsh could see the detective was going to fight his decision. "I mean it, Ray. Monday and no sooner."

"What the hell am I supposed to do the rest of the time?" demanded Kowalski furiously. He didn't want time off, he just wanted to get back to work, find a case and loose himself in it so he wouldn't have to think or feel too much.

"Relax, " suggested Welsh, knowing the very idea was probably foreign to the vitally animated detective. "Go to a movie, read a book. Just don't show your face in here until Monday." 

"This is bull..." began Kowalski frustrated.

"You're dismissed, Detective." Issued Welsh decidedly, before Kowalski could finish. The Lieutenant watched the young cop hesitate for a long moment, then he turned on his heel, threw open the door and stormed out. Francesca had approached him again to ask him a question and he walked past her, without even acknowledging her presence. 

He slid behind the wheel of his GTO and started the engine, sitting there for a moment deciding where he was going. Finally, with a quick nod at his decision, he put the car in gear and drove out of the department's parking lot and onto the main street. It a matter of minutes, he found himself outside the Canadian Consulate, where he quickly parked and got out of the car. Turnbull was at sentry duty and Ray greeted him with a quick wave, though he knew the Mountie wouldn't respond while on duty. He jogged up the steps and stepped inside the Consulate. Fraser was at the front desk, speaking to someone on the phone, in French, no less." He nodded to Ray, indicating with his hand that he would just be a minute. Ray nodded and settled into one of the chairs to wait. Today Fraser was in his red serge uniform and Ray, as always felt underdressed next to him in his usual jeans, tee shirt and jacket.

"Hello, Ray." greeted Thatcher smiling, as she approached him in a pretty, red tailored skirt suit. "Here to see Fraser?" Ray stood politely, a little startled by her unusual friendliness, but decided not to comment on it.

"Er..Yah." he replied. "I don't go back to work until Monday, so I thought I'd see if Fraser wanted to grab some lunch." He paused for a moment frowning at her. "Unless he's busy of course." Again she smiled and he glanced at her warily.

"No." she assured as Fraser finally finished his call. "The Constable may go if he wishes."

"Er..kay." considered Ray. "Would..ah..would you like to come?" Thatcher seemed genuinely surprised by the offer, and Ray felt he'd gotten some of his own back.

"Thank you for the invitation, Detective." She returned. "But I already have plans for lunch." She glanced at Fraser who was now standing beside them. "You two go and have fun. Fraser you can have and extra hour if you like since we have nothing pending right now."

"Thank you, Sir." He responded with a small smile of his own. "I hope you have a good lunch as well." Her smile turned secretive.

"I will, Constable." She assured, turning to retrieve her messages from the front desk and heading back to her office. Both men watched her go, it was Kowalski who spoke first.

"Is that our Thatcher?" he asked in disbelief, as Fraser retrieved his hat and Diefenbaker joined him from where he'd lay under his desk.

"Who else would she be, Ray?" inquired Fraser realistically, as he held the door for his partner and wolf, just as the clock struck twelve and Turnbull moved up the steps. Fraser informed him they would be out for lunch and he said he hoped it would be an enjoyable one, as the two men and one wolf got into the GTO. They decided on a familiar burger place, a few blocks away, that they had eaten at a few times before. They had only just ordered when Stella Kowalski walked up to the table in a devastatingly handsome blue casual, business dress. She stopped by their table.

"Hello, Ray," she greeted warmly. "Constable Fraser."

"Good afternoon, ma'am." Greeted Fraser standing politely, only to have her wave him back down. He was attempting to fill in for Kowalski's staring by asking her how she was and if she was busy at the DA's department, he could tell the detective was at an impasse whether to speak because his ex-wife so often shot him down for the smallest comment.

"H..Hi Stella." He finally returned, standing and holding out a chair. "You..ah.would you like to sit down?" She smiled and surprised him by accepting and Ray almost fell over himself to accommodate her. Finally they were both settled and she addressed him once more.

"I heard about you being in the hospital." She informed. "I visited a few times but you were still unconscious."

"I would have woken immediately if you'd told me you were there." He assured quickly and she laughed, turning his spine to butter.

"Well, I did, honey." She remarked. "You still didn't do it." Ray frowned.

"I'm sorry." He immediately said and she covered his shaking hand with one of her own.

"It isn't your fault." She told him gently. "I'm just glad you're okay now." She squeezed his hand. "I'm glad I caught you here. I have been thinking and I think we might try again." Ray stared at her, a mixture of joy and disbelief on his face. If this is a dream, he thought, please don't let me wake up.

"You mean that?" he asked hopefully and she nodded.

"All you have to do is say yes." She promised. "Just open your eyes wide and say yes." Ray started to laugh, tears forming in his eyes. All he had to do was open his eyes and say yes, and he'd have Stella back. He smiled, as a single tear drifted from the corned of one eye.

"Yes." He croaked.

 

Fraser woke with a start at the sound of his friend's voice, or what almost sounded like it, after it had gone unused in a long while, and scooted closer to the bed.

"Ray?" he asked, with a mixture of uncertain joy in his voice. The detective rolled his head, almost painfully toward the Mountie and he saw that Ray was crying.

"Fraser?" he whispered, confused. "Where's Stella?" Fraser stood up from the chair he'd occupied for the last twelve hours and reached to take Ray's hand.

"I don't understand, Ray." He offered kindly. "I'm the only one here. You just missed Francesca." Ray started to shake his head, but the very action hurt.

"No." he almost sobbed. "We were.....she was gonna let me try again....I coulda got it right this time." Fraser shook his head, his friend's pain mirrored in his own eyes.

"I'm sorry, Ray. " he offered. "You're in the hospital. You were dreaming." Ray turned his head away so the Mountie wouldn't see the fresh tears that formed in his eyes, not that his partner hadn't seen him cry before, but somehow he didn't want Fraser to know how much the dream had affected him. A dream, just a stupid dream, he should have known. Stella was never coming back to him. He realized that Fraser was saying something and, after getting control of himself, he turned back to meet his partner's concerned gaze; he'd missed those eyes, those beautiful blue eyes. His eyes widened at the thought. Wow! What kinda drugs did they have him on?

"Frase, h..how long?" he asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"You've been in a coma for one week, two days, nine hours and..." Fraser glanced at his watch. "Thirty two minutes, Ray." Ray smiled, as much as the stiff muscles in his face would allow him to anyway. Leave it to Fraser to be exact. "I need to go get the Doctor." He continued. Ray released his hand and nodded, his throat already parched from the small amount of talking he had already done. Fraser left and quickly returned with an older, bearded doctor, that sort of reminded Ray of the actor that portrayed Dr. Marcus Welby MD on a television series years ago. He smiled at Ray and the detective decided he had kind eyes, the kind of twinkling expression you'd expect Santa Claus to have, as he took Ray's vitals.

"You gave us quite a scare, young man." He inforced wryly as he checked Ray's pupils with his pen light. "How do you feel?" Ray hurt absolutely everywhere, but he didn't know how to convey it.

"My hair hurts." He managed and the Doctor chuckled as he registered Ray's pulse.

"Yes," he agreed smiling. "I imagine it does." He made a note on Ray's chart then asked him to open as wide as he could so his mouth could be examined. "I am Doctor Farnell, I've been waiting for you to wake up and tell me what's going n inside that body of yours so we can fix it." Ray grimaced and closed his moth as Dr. Farnell took the tongue depressor away.

"I feel like shit." He admitted wryly and the Doctor laughed heartily.

"At least your spirit hasn't been affected." He concluded. "We'll keep you on the IV for another twenty four hours, then we'll put you on soft food, if you can take it. You can have all the water or juice you like, but no caffeine or sugar for awhile, until your body has had time to adjust." Ray groaned and Fraser couldn't help the smile that formed on his lips. Ray without caffeine? No coffee? No soda? The man may very well slip back into a coma.

"I..go home?" he managed to croak, but the doctor shook his head.

"Not for awhile yet, I'm afraid." refused Dr. Farnell. "You still have three broken ribs that are starting to heal and it will take you a few days to readjust to everything." He smiled and patted Ray's hand. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Detective." Ray offered him a small smile, then watched him leave. Fraser, who had been standing further back while the Doctor checked his patient, stepped closer to the bed.

"Is there anything I can get for you, Ray?" he offered quietly.

"Coffee." Replied Ray, making Fraser smile.

"How about some water?" countered the Mountie, pouring some water into a glass from a pitcher on the bed locker.

"Kay." Agreed Ray, as Fraser helped him to sit up and sip some of the water. It helped the dryness, but hurt like hell. He signaled he'd had enough and Fraser settled him gently back onto the pillow. God he felt bad. He almost considered trying to go back into the coma, at least then he didn't feel so rotten.

"Better?" asked Fraser, referring to the water. Ray nodded, then winced as an explosion of color settled behind his eyes.

"Where's Dief?" he asked suddenly.

"Francesca's taking care of him for me." Informed Fraser. Ray observed the circles under his partner's eyes and the worry lines around his mouth. He was paler than normal and his eyes were slightly bloodshot. It touched him in a way he couldn't fathom that the Mountie had been so devoted.

"How long you been here, Frase?" he managed after a moment and he watched the Mountie flush and look away guiltily.

"Not long." he assured, knowing Ray didn't believe him even as he said it.

"Why don't..." Ray took a breath, willing his vocal cords to relax enough for him to speak. "Go home and sleep. I'll be okay." Fraser shook his head.

"I'm fine Ray." He protested, trying not to think about the sheer exhaustion of his body or the sore muscles he'd contracted from too many nights in that chair. "I've slept some."

"Go home, Fraser." ordered Ray firmly. "I'll be here tomorrow." Fraser allowed himself a small smile.

"I can stay." He offered once more, but Ray worried they end up admitting his partner as well after too much longer.

"Nah, go." Insisted Ray. "I'll see ya tomorrow." Fraser nodded and retrieved his hat. He had started to leave then turned back, and odd expression on his face.

"I'm....I am very glad you woke up, Ray." He admitted. "I would have missed you if..." Ray watched a flicker of emotions pass over his friend's face.

"Me too, Frase." He offered quietly. Fraser nodded and put his hat on.

"Good night Ray." He said with a smile. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Afternoon." Suggested Ray sternly, he wanted the Mountie to get some sleep, as it was already after midnight, according to the clock on the locker beside him. Fraser nodded.

"Understood." He assured as he left. 

Ray stared at the many different machines he was hooked up to and sighed, how depressing...no coffee!

 

 

Ray paused in mid throw, half of a deck of cards in his hand, the other in or scattered around the bedpan on the end of his bed, as Agent Handler knocked on his partially closed door.

"Whatever it is," he began warily. "I was here the whole time so it wasn't me." He was surprised when she laughed and entered.

"Oh, I'm sure I could make it stick if I had to." She promised amused. She was dressed in a simple v-neck, light blue blouse and navy slacks. Her was in a thin white sling. "How're you doing, Vecchio?" Ray felt the remnants of his dream coming back and glanced down at the cards in his pan, thoughtfully.

"Never been better." He teased, indicating her arm. "How's the shoulder?" Handler grimaced frustrated.

"A bad fracture." She informed him. "But the Doctor said it should be completely healed in a few more days, he just wants me to keep the sling on for another day; damn annoying thing it is." Ray grinned and returned his gaze to hers.

"Yah," he agreed. "I hate the things myself." A silence fell between them for a moment, finally Ray couldn't keep quiet any longer. "Mind if I ask ya somethin'? 

"I'm surprised you bothered to ask my permission." She observed, raising an eyebrow curiously. "That knock on your head may have done you some good." He made a face at her.

"Thanks a lot." He returned sullenly and she couldn't help smile at his pout.

"What was your question?" she offered. He hesitated for a few minutes.

"I..I had a dream while I was..." he paused looking for the right word. "...sleepin', an' I was wonderin' if....well...if you had been here fer real or if I imagined it."

"Do you remember me visiting you?" she countered, tilting her head thoughtfully. Ray sighed, he really didn't want to look foolish, and the fact that he in the dream she kissed him would make him so.

"I...in the dream, you were sayin' some pretty rotten stuff ta me, but I think you were just sayin' those things to get me to respond." He shrugged. "In the dream I woke up and..." He didn't have the guts to mention the kiss. "You seemed pretty happy that I did." Handler stood watching him quietly for a moment, digesting his words.

"Well, " she finally said. "The subconscious can play tricks on you. Perhaps you were associating my being here with us being together just before the accident, putting the two together." Ray stared at her intently, then looked away, feeling like an idiot.

"Yah." He muttered. "That must'a been it then."

"I'm sure it was." She assured, pulling up the chair close to the bed and sitting down. "Mind if I ask you some questions?" She noticed his suddenly wary look and she hurried to explain. "In a professional capacity, of course." Ray nodded, that he would do.

"Shoot." He offered, absently continuing his game.

"How much do you remember about being at the house?" she inquired in her best professional tone. "Specifically after we were separated from Constable Fraser." Did he remember their heated exchange in that sealed room? How much of his behavior in the drug-induced state did he recall?

"I remember the room, yah." He replied. "Then those weird things started happenin' and then there was the gas..." Handler sat up more erect.

"What gas?" she demanded. She didn't remember any gas. Ray shrugged.

"I couldn't tell where it was comin' from, but there was gas in that room, I smelled it just before we passed out." She glared at him.

"You told me I fainted!" she accused and Ray grinned.

"Well, yah," he admitted easily. "Ya did pass out, from the gas."

"You said I fainted." She repeated indignantly. "Passing out from some unseen gas does not constitute fainting, Detective."

"Whatever." Sighed Ray, pleased he'd managed to get her dander up. "Ya wanna here the rest or what?" She pressed her lips together, biting down her anger, and nodded curtly for him to proceed.

"Please continue." She requested coolly.

"Le'see..." he gathered his thoughts. "I remember wakin'up in that garret tied to a chair," he rolled his eyes dramatically. "Oh yah, you were there too." Handler gave him one of her drop-dead looks, but didn't interrupt him. "That guy Jennings came in and.." he frowned, there was a gap there for some reason. "I remember him putting....I think he had a gun, maybe even my gun." Ray shrugged apologetically. "That part's a little fuzzy. Anyway I remember you screamin' something about a syringe and then..." Again he drew a blank. "I don't remember.....no wait. You hurt your arm, I remember you fallin' and hurtn' your arm and I remember my hands hurt." He glanced down at the palms of his hands where the tiny scars were starting to heal. He looked back at Handler. "How did I hurt my hands?"

"You cut them on the broken mirror." She explained, quickly briefing him on his efforts to rescue them. Ray seemed a little taken back by her story, but continued.

"Anyway, I don't really remember much else until the girl in the window." Handler sat forward, intrigued.

"What girl, Detective?" she asked interested. "Was there someone else in the house that we aren't aware of? You mentioned her after you fell also, who was she?"

"I don't think she ever told me her name." Admitted Ray quietly. "She was real pretty, didn't look she was a prisoner there, maybe just a neighborhood kid." He smiled remembering the girl's sweet smile and gentle eyes. He heard Handler clear her throat impatiently and continued. "She wanted me to go with her through the window, like maybe there was somethin' I need to see. "

"So she was the one who told you to get on the roof. " surmised Handler. One mystery solved anyway.

"She didn't actually say so," corrected Ray, now that he thought about it, she hadn't spoken at all. "But I understood that to be what she wanted. Anyway, I remember we slid down to an open window." He smiled, remembering he hadn't been the slightest bit apprehensive about their descent, while the girl held his hand. "I saw Jennings holdin' you, and Fraser and Young in the room."

"What happened to the girl?" demanded Handler.

"I dunno." Admitted the detective, afraid to mention he had forgotten all about her once he'd observed the situation in the room he peered into. "I guess she went home."

"Detective, why would she just up and go home?" reasoned Handler. "How did she get off the roof?"

"I don't know!" snapped Ray, angry that her questions caused him to recognize his error. He had forgotten about her. The girl with the sweetest face he had ever seen, who helped take the pain away; he remembered the pain; had disappeared once he'd reached the window and he'd never questioned it. He hadn't noticed her departure, didn't know if she had fallen or something even worse. But Handler said no one else had ever seen her, so logically if she'd fallen her body would have been found; wouldn't it?

"Vecchio?" insisted Handler, for the third time, noticing the detective had gotten a fearful expression and was suddenly lost in thought.

"What?" he replied finally.

"I didn't mean too insinuate anything." She assured gently. "I'm just curious as to who she was. You weren't exactly in any condition to think clearly, anyway."

Ray remained silent and she pressed forward. 

"I'll have some people go out there and ask around. Can you give me a description?" 

Ray did so, careful to include the special dress the girl was wearing, as Handler took it down in her note pad, just as Fraser knocked politely on the door. Ray waved him in eagerly, his eyes automatically going to the brown paper sack the Mountie held.

"Hello, agent Handler." Fraser greeted the woman politely, as she rose from the chair. "Am I interrupting something?" She shook her head.

"I was just leaving." She replied as Ray made a grab for the bag that Fraser held, Fraser avoided his attempt.

"I really don't think this is a good idea, Ray." He scolded, ignoring the frustrated look in his friend's eyes. "The doctor did say..." Ray snatched the bag.

"I'm outta here tomorrow anyway, Fraser." He reasoned, opening the bag and looking inside. "So it don't matter" Fraser rolled his eyes and Handler shook her head as Ray started picking through the assortment of chocolates, candies, and sweets. He grinned and immediately opened a package of M&M's. Handler took a peek inside the bag and shook her head.

"No wonder you're always bouncing off the walls, Vecchio." She remarked wryly. Ray ignored the comment and offered her some candy, secretly pleased when she accepted a couple and popped them into her mouth. He offered some to Fraser, knowing the Mountie would turn down the sweets, which he did, the Ray continued munching delightedly.

"I get outta here an' the first thing I'm getting' is a pizza." He mentioned to no one in particular as a nurse came in and spied the bag. She gave him a reprimanding stare and reached for the bag, shocked when he slapped her hand away form his treasure.

"Mr. Vecchio!" she admonished.

"People have died for less." He warned with a convincing look.

"But the Doctor..." stammered the nurse, as Ray ignored Fraser's reproving stare.

"I will shoot you, if you try it again." He vowed and the nurse shot a questioning glance at Fraser.

"He does tend to get a little protective of his candy, Ma'am." He admitted. Handler gave her a solemn look.

"Perhaps just this once," she suggested. "To avoid any unwarranted bloodshed." The nurse visibly paled and left the room, rather quickly. Ray chuckled contentedly and tossed a toffee at the agent for her help. She smiled and caught it, with her good hand, amused, as Fraser shook his head at their appalling behavior.

"Thanks for droppin' by." He offered with a smile and she nodded.

"I'll check into that girl." She promised, as the caramel met the same fate as the M&M's he'd given her. "If I come up with anything, and you're up to it, we could probably check out the house again."

"I do not want to go back to that house." he stated firmly, he'd had enough of those secret passages to last a lifetime, and Handler grinned.

"Don't worry," she assured. "I'll see if the owner has any floor plans." Ray nodded and waved as she said goodbye to Fraser. As she turned to leave she heard Fraser ask

"What girl, Ray?"

She listened for a moment, outside the door, as the detective briefed his partner, and frowned, thinking about his earlier questions. So Ray had heard the things she'd said to him a few nights ago. She wondered if he remembered her leaning down to kiss him as well, and if that was what he seemed hesitant to ask her about. Her frown deepened, why did she lie to him about her presence? Why should it matter? She shook her head and wandered on down the hall, she had things to do.

 

 

"Are you sure?" asked Ray, as he pulled up to the old house in his mint GTO, with Handler, Thatcher and Fraser in the vehicle with him. He shivered when a feeling of déjà vu washed over him, as they all stepped out into the warm afternoon air. Fraser noticed the discrete reaction and glanced at his friend concerned.

"We don't have to do this, Ray." He assured quietly, as he and Handler retrieved battery lanterns from the trunk, which would give them much more light then on their first visit. Ray shook his head and accepted one of the two lamps.

"I'm okay, Fraser." He replied, with less sincerity than he felt. He glanced up at the window he had fallen from and shivered again. He hadn't expected to feel this...weird about coming back here. After all, he'd had much worse things happen to him than what had occurred in the house from his last visit, but for some reason the house made him more apprehensive than he should be. Maybe it was just the subtle changes in the people around him, at least their attitude toward him. Handler seemed to be going out of her way to be pleasant, and though Fraser always concerned for him, he didn't usually hover as much as he had been doing lately. Francesca had been unusually quiet around him at work, as though sensing he wasn't in the mood for her chatter, though she was being exceptionally helpful, hadn't lost a file in almost a week. Thatcher had been almost too agreeable to lend Fraser to their visit back to the house, insisting she accompany him; intrigued by what she had heard of the house from her subordinate. It kind of freaked Ray out, like he was in an episode of the Twilight Zone or something equally strange.

"Ray?" inquired Fraser beside him, pulling the detective out of his daydream. He rolled his head and lit his lamp, then headed up the steps.

"Pitter patter," he encouraged as they followed. "Let's get at'er." The four entered the house and stood in the hall as Ray returned to the question he'd asked Handler in the car. "You're sure no one around here has seen that kid, hey?" The agent shook her head, as she unrolled the blueprints the owner had given her.

"No one lives within ten miles of this area, those who are in that range have no kids matching your description." She frowned. "Everyone was full of history about the old place, though."

"Like what?" inquired Thatcher, as she turned in a small circle, awed at the beautiful architecture around them, despite its state of disrepair.

"Well, it seems, the owner Mr. Marthendow bought this place about five years ago, with the idea that he'd restore it and turn it into a bed and breakfast." Explained Handler as she laid the prints onto a hall table and glanced over them with Kowalski and Fraser. "He claims that the workmen he'd hired kept getting lost or complaining of strange happenings."

"Oh goodie." Muttered Ray. "A ghost story. I think I'd rather hear one of Fraser's Inuit tales." He saw Fraser open his mouth to comply, but shut it again when he received a warning look from his partner. "I'm kidding, Frase."

"Ah." The Mountie nodded. "Understood, Ray." He nodded to Handler politely. "Please continue."

Handler was caught off guard by Fraser's urging, she had been enjoying the delicious scent of Ray's cologne. She glanced at the Constable, puzzled, then nodded as it registered what he wanted.

"Yes." She cleared her throat, reprimanding herself for letting the good-looking detective to get under her skin. "Apparently, he couldn't find anyone willing to help him with the refinishing," she waved her hand around dramatically. "And obviously the house needed a lot of work, even though almost all of the original furniture was still intact. He finally happened on three drifters, who claimed to be good with their hands. They agreed to do the work, but had only been working here a week when two of them took off, ranting something about the house having gotten their friend Johnny."

"Yah." smirked Ray, "I hate it when that happens." Handler spared him an exasperated look for the joke, then continued.

"Needless to say, no one else would work here and Mr. Marthendow couldn't sell the place, so he's stuck with this eye sore."

"Why doesn't he just tear it down and build a new one?" suggested Ray, close to her ear. Startled, she glanced up at him, did he realize how close they were standing? He was gazing intently at the prints on the table and didn't seem to notice her appraisal of him. Thatcher took it upon herself to answer his question.

"This house is a priceless piece of workmanship, Detective." She stated, appalled that he would even suggest such a thing. "There are so few great tributes like this left in the country, he would be mad to tear it down." Handler interceded, slightly annoyed that the Inspector had been so condescending to the cop beside her, putting Vecchio in his place was her job, not Thatcher's.

" Actually, Inspector," she returned in the same neutral tone. "Marthendow did consider it,, but when he went to get the permits he was besieged by one of the historical societies who insisted it was a landmark and couldn't be it torn down. The house was built in the late 1800's by an Irish immigrant who later became a prominent inventor here in Chicago. It was passed down from father to son, until 1945 when some kind of tragedy struck and the people who lived inn the house moved out, then died shortly after."

"All of 'em?" asked Ray surprised.

"Well, there was only the man who owned the house and his younger brother." Explained Handler, trying to remember the details.

"Didn't they have any children to pass the house onto?" inquired Fraser. Handler shook her head.

"The owner, Samuel O'Flynn, I believe was his name, did have a wife and daughter, but people say the wife took the girl and left one night and never returned. O'Flynn closed up the house and he and his brother left, neither marrying afterward. It remained empty until it was finally sold in the late seventies, but the owners didn't stay in it a year before they moved out and tried to sell it. It passed hands three times, before Mr. Marthendow finally bought it an estate auction. He found the blue prints for this place during the reconstruction."

"Why didn't someone try and find the wife and kid?" asked Ray. "It was her house too, and her daughter." Handler shrugged.

"I got a lot of different stories from different people on that." She admitted. "Some say they were found, but the Mother refused to have anything to do with the house. Others claim they think O'Flynn murdered them and hid the bodies in the house or on the property. One lady said they were abducted by aliens, and others just said they vanished and couldn't be found." Ray shivered, suddenly remembering the skeleton he'd found in that pit. He mentioned it to them and both had admitted they themselves had forgotten about it, due to everything else that was going on at the time.

"Perhaps we should call..." began Fraser, but Handler already had her phone out and was dialing. She asked a coroner and forensics team to come to the house. When she had hung up, Ray spoke.

"How the hell are we supposed to get the body out of there?" he demanded. "'Cause I sure as hell ain't swingin' down that pit again." Fraser spoke up.

"Agent Young claimed that he was thrown outside when he fell down the well, Ray." He informed glancing over the plans and indicating an area on the prints. "This may be a way into the pit through the basement area." Handler nodded and mapped out the safest route to their destination., then rolled up the plans.

"Shall we?" she inquired cheerfully, the two men following with their lanterns, Thatcher strayed close to Fraser, still looking around. They passed through the poolroom, and Ray couldn't help but glance over into the water.

"Hey!" he exclaimed moving closer toward the edge and shining the light over the water, which was remarkable clear considering the last time they had been there. There was a distorted black shape at the bottom in one end. "I think that's my gun, Fraser." Fraser and Handler both looked down into the still slightly murky depths.

"I believe you are right, Ray." Concluded Fraser noticing a large pool net over on the corner wall. He quickly retrieved it and set about trying to snag the shadowed shape below.

"For heaven's sake, Detective!" an impatient Thatcher barked, "We didn't come here to go fishing." Ray glared at her.

"Do you got any idea how much it'll cost to replace a gun, Inspector?" he demanded as he watched Fraser try to net the gun. Thatcher remained silent and lowered her eyes to inspect the floor beneath them. After only a few tries Fraser captured the weapon in the net and brought it up to the surface. Ray snagged it from the net and dumped out the water in the ruined clip.

"Cool!" he grinned and kissed the barrel, happy to have his preferred weapon back. A bit of spit and polish and it'd be good as new. "Welcome home, baby." Fraser smiled and replaced the net on the wall.

"Now that the reunion is over can we continue?" inquired Handler sarcastically and Ray smirked as he holstered his gun. Now that was the Handler he was used to. 

They found the designated wall, which the plans showed led to a secret passage and pulled it open. A terrible stench filled their nostrils. Ray and Thatcher backed up, covering their nose and mouth, he remembered that smell. Fraser was the first to move in, then Thatcher and Handler. Finally Ray reluctantly followed, replacing the hand in front of his face with a handkerchief to block some of the smell.

They walked quietly through the narrow passage, only the slight sound of Thatcher's low heels echoing as she walked, until came to what seemed like rock wall. Fraser swung his lamp around, looking for the trigger mechanism, but the walls were solid, with no apparent creases or crevices. Ray leaned against the left side of the wall, slightly relieved that it didn't go where he feared it would, and immediately he fell backwards into another chamber. He heard Fraser call his name, as he grabbed for the lamp that had slipped from his hand; relieved it was a durable plastic and had not been damaged; and quickly surveyed the area. 

He noticed an angled ramp a few feet above him and a set steep set of stairs leading down ahead, other than that the huge room was solid rock. A large stone table protruded from one of the walls and there were two wooden chairs. Looked like some kinda interrogation or torture chamber. He could feel air coming from above, as the others joined him.

"That's one way of finding it Vecchio." Teased Handler as Fraser helped the detective to his feet. Ray pointed to the ramp.

"Think that's what Young took on his ride outside?" he asked the Mountie. Fraser raised his lamp and expected it thoughtfully. It was certainly wide enough to hold a human and it looked to be made of slick, solid steel, so it would more than support a person's weight

"Quite possibly." He surmised, then swung his lamp toward the stairs opposite.

"So that probably leads...." Ray shivered.

"Yah." He agreed reluctantly. "Which means the..other things might be there too."

"I doubt they'd still be there, Detective." protested Handler calmly. "Unless of course you're scared of a little spider." Ray glared at her mutinously, fighting the urge to clock her, until Fraser broke the silence. 

"Shall we investigate to make sure," he suggested, watching Ray's expression 

intently. "Or wait for the others to get here?" Ray glanced over at Handler, who seemed anxious to press on. He sighed.

"Let's go." He decided heading down the stairs before he lost his nerve. They seemed to descend for quite a while, until Ray felt his ears pop. He mentioned it to Fraser.

"We are probably below sea level at this point, Ray." He explained as they rounded the corner and their lights caught the small, cramped corner that held the corpse. Unfortunately, much to Ray's dismay, their intrusion also woke the family of arachnids that lived around it and they had started to advance

"Go! Go! GO!" yelled Ray to the others behind him. The four scrambled back up the steps, much faster than when they had gone down and ran into the open room. Thatcher, who had been in the back, had already darted through the opening to the outer corridor, as Fraser tried to find the lever for the wall that Ray had fallen through, but his search was in vain; as though the wall simply didn't exist anymore. 

Ray and Handler had only gotten partially into the room, when Fraser warned of the scurrying predators behind them. Ray dropped his lamp on the stone table and hopped up, pulling Handler with him, and hoped the slab would hold, as it had no legs to brace it, just the wall behind that molded it. Fraser had started to come back into the room to help, but the floor was already covered with the eight-legged beasts. 

"Go find the others." ordered Handler, tossing him her phone. "Call for an exterminator or something to take care of these things." Fraser hesitated, reluctant to leave them.

"Go Fraser." Encouraged Kowalski. "We'll be okay, just hurry." Fraser

nodded and he and Thatcher dashed off, a few of the tarantulas trailing after them. Ray new the Mountie would easily outrun the eight legged beasts and that Thatcher was probably a good runner herself, so they would probably be safe enough. He was more concerned with the swarm of spiders below them that didn't seem willing to move away, either back to their hole or into the outer area, as though sensing there was still fresh meat somewhere in the room. Handler was backing up as far on the table as she could.

"What's a'matter, Handler?" taunted Ray, disguising his fear with sarcasm. "Afraid of a little spider?" She gave him a muted look.

"You didn't say there would be so many." She retorted. Or so big, she added silently. Ray grunted.

"What the hell did you think that thing was Fraser took offa me last time I went in there, a grasshopper?" 

She shrugged, not willing to admit her fear had prevented her from looking when the Constable had pulled the tarantula from under the detective's shirt. They stood in silence for a few moments, each berating the other. Kowalski glanced at the chairs that were a few feet from the table. If only they could get to them, maybe make their way across to the door, or even to that ramp above and get outside. 

Handler screamed, jarring him from his thoughts and he instinctually pulled her against him and kicked the tarantula that had somehow gotten up on the table, off the edge. The others would find a way to reach them soon and he couldn't help thinking they'd end up like the people in Kingdom of the Spiders, cocoon for all time in a giant, suffocating web. He shook his head, he had to stop watching so many horror flicks.

He noticed that Handler hadn't moved away from him, like she usually did whenever they came in contact. In fact she seemed to be moving closer, which surprised him. He slowly lifted his arm to her waist, expecting her to push him away or slap him, instigating another of their famous shoving matches, but she curled into him instead and that meant she was really frightened.

"Fraser'll be back any minute." He assured, swallowing his own fear in the face of her anxiety. She nodded, her eyes glued to the crawling creatures below them.

"I hate spiders." She stated resolutely, as a small shiver descended over her.

"They ain't exactly my favorite either." admitted Ray, wryly, trying to ignore the sweet smell of jasmine that seemed to surround her. 

He tried to think of something that would take their minds off their dilemma, until Fraser returned.

"So, tell me, what was I like when I was high?" he asked innocently. He didn't really want to know, but it was all he could think of at the moment. Handler smiled a little.

"Different." She commented slyly. "Very different." Now Ray was curious.

"Different, how?" he asked cautiously, receiving another small smile from her.

"Well, you wanted to dance, instead of go downstairs." She informed calmly. Kowalski grinned.

"Well, that ain't so different." He replied. "I love to dance, always have." Handler nodded, that would explain why he was so good at it, she thought. "What else?" 

"Well, you flipped back and forth pretty quickly." She explained, wondering how much to tell him. One minute you were Fred Astair, the next Hitler." Ray raised an eyebrow. "Well, not Hitler, exactly. You just suddenly got angry and paranoid."

"What did I say?" he asked quietly. "I didn't hurt you did I?" She quickly shook her head.

"No, you seemed more frustrated than angry, actually." She amended. "You kept taking offense to me saying your name and then you were babbling something about he's not me and I'm not him nonsense." Ray got quiet, had he blown his cover?

"What name did you call me, by?"

"Well, Vecchio, of course." she countered. "What else?" He shook his head.

"I guess I wasn't real clear headed at the time." He offered slowly. "Did I...did I say anything else?"

"Not really at that point," she frowned. "You did seem to think you were my boyfriend, that is Vecchio was my boyfriend, or something." She sighed. "You were very hard to understand."

"Yah," agreed Kowalski, running a hand through his hair. "I'll bet. Anything else?"

"Well, after that you became quite afraid and refused to go downstairs because it was dark." She stated. "I couldn't convince you otherwise so I went to find help alone." She decided to leave out the fact that he had started crying and reliving horrible memories, she didn't want to embarrass him. She smiled, that was something new, usually she purposely enjoyed making him look bad, but this was different. He had no control over himself then, she wouldn't make it harder on him, she suspected he was already being quite hard on himself. 

"How come you can remember all this and I can't?" he demanded.

"Jennings gave me a much smaller dose, and the Doctor's think that because I threw up shortly after, it kept it from overtaking my system to severely."

"When did you throw up?" he asked, puzzled. She blushed slightly.

"Shortly after we got loose." She murmured. Ray sighed and glanced toward the opening for any sign of his partner.

"Com'on Fraser." He urged.

"They shouldn't be able to get up on the table," Handler remarked, not really believing it herself. "So we're safe here for awhile." Kowalski was about to voice his doubts about that just as table beneath them jerked and started to retract into the wall.

"Ray!" exclaimed Handler frantic, as they moved closer to the edge as the wall continued to swallow their only sanctuary from the spiders below. Kowalski frantically searched the wall for a button, a crack, anything that would stop the table's movement. Defeated he grabbed her hand and moved to a rapidly disappearing edge.

"Jump!" he ordered, pointing to the chairs, which now seemed even further away

"I can't jump that far!" she protested, glancing at the retreating table under their feet and the horde of hungry Tarantulas below.

"Yes you can." inforced Kowalski. "It's them or the floor." Handler looked down again and shivered. She said a quick prayer and jumped, landing on the slightly shaky chair. She then jumped to the chair next to it, which was only about two feet away from the first. Ray jumped, and almost toppled as his feet hit the chair, but he managed to right himself quickly. However, the spiders could climb the chairs, because they had legs, so he knew they couldn't stay there indefinitely. 

"Move over as much as you can." He suggested, and she repositioned herself accordingly. He jumped to her chair, leaving very little room to maneuver, then carefully reached across, while she held his hand, and caught hold of the other chair. He put that one in front of them, they stepped across, then put the second chair ahead once again. Slowly, they made their way towards the exit, using the two chairs as alternating stepping-stones. They were just under the ramp when a rumbling sound indicated their escape was about to be blocked by the connecting wall. Even if they jumped from where they were and ran the rest, the wall would be sealed before they could get to it.

"We're not going to make it." Determined Handler, her voice shook slightly with fear. Ray glanced around and nodded his head decidedly. He reached up and grabbed the slick sides of the ramp, he could feel the sharp edge of the steel cutting into his palms, as he took a deep breath and hoisted himself upward. After a bit of a struggle, he managed to pull himself onto the slide, but had to dig his palms in more to keep from sliding down the slick surface.

He reached down to her with his free hand, noticing the spiders had already started to climb the chair. She caught his hand and reached up with her other hand toward the edge, wincing as it to cut into her hand. Ray grimaced in pain, as the chore of pulling her up tore at his still fragile ribs. but finally she was beside him, or rather atop of him, as he was still trying to keep them from sliding and she was holding onto him. Their combined weight on the downward angle was too much and he had too let go, sending them spiraling down to wherever the slide would take them. He wrapped his arms around Handler, to keep from cutting them further on the side and she hung on to him with her arms around his neck and shoulders. 

They seemed to be moving so fast, Ray had difficulty catching his breath, and he could hear Handler gasping as well. They rounded a corner so fast that Ray's head hit the wall and he almost loss consciousness. He shook it, willing himself to stay awake, until the dizziness was replaced by a hard throbbing. Handler tried to pull herself up on him further, perhaps her hold was slipping, and Ray realized his head wasn't the only thing throbbing. Dear God, don't let her notice.

Suddenly a wave of fresh air and sunshine hit them, and they were airborne for about fifteen seconds, then unceremoniously landed in the bushes below. During their trip from the air to the ground, the momentum had pulled them apart, and Handler landed on her stomach, while Ray landed half on his back and half on his side. He groaned and tried to sit up, disengaging himself from the grasping arms of the bushes. He literally crawled out of the patch and extended a hand to Handler, who was still struggling. Finally the two of them lay on the dirt-covered ground of the forest around them, Ray on his back with one of his legs bent upward and Handler curled up on her side.

"Anything broken?" rasped Kowalski, his voice slightly shaky from left over adrenaline, as he tried to catch his breath and not think of the awful pain in his chest. Handler muttered something that may have been a denial, he wasn't sure. He took a deep breath, instantly regretting it as it caused another spasm of pain to rock through him. Handler must have heard his intake of breath, for she crawled closer to him and peered down into his eyes concerned.

"Are you hurt?" she inquired, quickly.

"I'll be okay." He hissed , struggling to pull his phone from his inside jacket pocket. "What's yer number?" she told him and he dialed it.

"Hello?" inquired Fraser's anxious voice.

"It's me." 

"Ray!" declared Fraser relieved. "I tried to get back to you but one of those time locks had jammed the outside wall in the poolroom. I was so worried, but there are people here now to help and I can..."

"Fraser!" snapped Ray. "We ain't in there."

"I don't understand, Ray." Remarked his partner confused. "How did you...."

"Never mind." Sighed Ray, irritably. We're in the forest, somewhere, wherever Young said he ended up. Come find us will'ya?"

"Of course, Ray." Agreed Fraser readily. "Are you injured? Should I..."

"Just come get us, Frase." He requested. "I'll tell ya the rest when ya get here."

"Understood, Ray." Acknowledged. "I'll be right there." Ray, ended the call and almost dropping the phone beside him. They lay there silently, for a moment, Handler still hovering over him. She had twigs attached just about everywhere, and her top was torn on one arm. Her eyes were glassy and her skin flushed. Ray figured he didn't look much better. He smiled up at her.

"Let's torch the place?" he suggested wickedly. "I'm about full up on that amusement park." She smiled and nodded, surprising him by laying her head on his chest and taking a deep relaxing breath.

"I'll buy the gasoline, you get the matches." She vowed and he chuckled.

"I like you this way." He commented.

"What way is that, Vecchio?" she countered warily.

"Agreeable and submissive." He admitted slyly, and he suspected she would have hit him, had she the energy.

"Remind you to smack you later." She muttered tiredly. "And don't get to used to me this way, either. I probably hit my head or something and am not behaving normally." She yawned and he gently shook her.

"Don't fall asleep." He warned, not knowing if she had also hit her head, either in the slide or on the landing. She managed to pull herself up, as the sound of cracking twigs indicated that help was near. A moment later, Fraser and another man found them.

"Are either of you hurt?" he asked immediately, bending to help Ray sit up, watching his partner wince at the effort. "You're ribs?"

"Yah." Breathed Ray, as he slowly got to his feet, while the other man helped Handler. 

"You should probably get checked out at the hospital, Detective." Suggested Handler, as they were led out of the forest.

"I ain't goin' back to the hospital." He refused adamantly, as they approached the front of the house where Thatcher was giving instructions to the coroner, forensics team and insect control people that shuffled about busily. She noticed them and rushed over.

"Are you both alright?" she inquired concerned, as she joined them. 

"I'll be fine." Assured Handler, glancing at Kowalski. "But he may be hurt."

"Would you like me to take you home, Ray?" offered Fraser, since the detective refused to go to the hospital, as Ray settled on the tailgate of one of the trucks.

"Nah." He declined as the coroner brought out the body bag with the remains of the victim, followed closely by two other men in a goofy looking puffed body suit and helmet. They carried a large glass aquarium, containing a mess of tarantulas, between them. Ray shivered and looked away. 

He glanced up and saw something white in the garret window. He stood, the pain in his ribs and the people around him fading into the background as the figure moved from his view. Immediately he started running toward the house, the pain in his ribs forgotten, as Handler, Thatcher and Fraser charged after him, calling to him. He ran inside and up the steps to the second floor, locating the required room and looking for the way through the wall to the stairs.

"Ray," breathed Fraser behind him, with Thatcher following. "What is it?" The detective was frantically looking for the release lever that would allow him access to the garret.

"How does this damn thing open?" he demanded and Fraser showed him as the women caught up to them.

"Ray..." began Fraser, confused, as his partner started running up the stairs, slipping a few times in the darkness.

"I saw her, Fraser." He called back, knowing the Mountie was right behind him. "The girl! She's up here." They broke through to the upper room and Ray stopped short, scanning the room hastily. It was empty and dark. Fraser retrieved his flashlight from his utility belt and surveyed the room curiously. 

Handler and joined them a minute later and could see no difference from when they had left in a few weeks before. The two chairs and the broken mirror were still over in one corner, the window was boarded up and a heavy layer of dust had settled on everything. 

"What's going on?" she asked, trying to catch her breath from trying to keep up with the two men, as Ray wandered to the window to finger the wooden boards, thinking that would make it seem more real. 

"She was just here." He insisted, glancing around, then back at the window. "I saw her here, in the window."

"You couldn't have, Detective." Insisted Handler, indicating the boards. "Perhaps it was the other window, downstairs."

"No!" denied Ray hotly. "It was this one." He caught her giving him an odd lock. "I'm not loosin' it." He remarked. "I saw her." He turned to his partner. "You believe me, don't ya Frase?"

"Of course, Ray." Replied Fraser, though Ray saw doubts in the deep blue gaze that held his. Ray started looking around the room.

"There must be a secret way out of here." He stated looking around the walls and surface area of the room. "She probably went through there."

"Not according to the blueprints, Ray." Recalled Fraser calmly. His partner shook his head.

"You're wrong." He decreed glancing at the lone faded picture frame on the wall. "It's here, I know it." The print held his attention and he carefully wiped off the dust that clung to the picture. It was a small painting of a young girl surrounded by a forest of trees in center of a small glen. It couldn't be! He wiped more of the dirt off and gasped, as Fraser and Handler stepped closer to him.

"What's wrong, Ray?" demanded Fraser, noticing the sudden pallor of his friend's face, even in the dim light. Ray grabbed Fraser's flashlight and held it up to the picture.

"It's her!" he exclaimed in disbelief." The girl I saw, this is her, she's even wearing the same dress." Fraser and Handler exchanged a look, the possibility that a neighborhood child, or even a runaway hiding here, would put up such a portrait of herself, however small, was remote. Which meant it had to belong to the previous owners of the house.

"You must be mistaken, Detective." Countered Handler glancing over the picture, admitting it did resemble the detective's description of the girl. "Perhaps you saw this picture when you were here and due to the drugs in your system you only hallucinated her into being." Ray glared at her.

"Then explain how I got out on the roof." He demanded angrily. "That window was not boarded up when I left here, or else how could I have gotten out?"

"It was boarded up when I was here." She insisted. "Maybe you found another way onto the roof and just don't remember it." He shook his head, refusing to believe the girl that had saved him and ultimately allowed him to save Handler was a hallucination brought on by a drug induced state.

"I know what I saw!" he determined, reaching up to take the picture down from the wall for a better look. It seemed nailed to the wall, which was very strange. He moved the corner or it one way, then the other, to find a way to remove it. 

Suddenly the floor gave beneath him and all four of them were tumbling downward, literally dropping from the ceiling into a large, child's bedroom, a long steel pole stood in the center of where they landed and extended up though the opening. The ceiling closed up and they individually climbed to their feet, sore but no more the worse for wear.

"Vecchio!" screamed Handler waving an angry finger at him. "Do not touch another thing in this house! Don't sit, lean against anything, nothing." Ray threw her a warning look, he was getting tired of this damn funhouse.

"I can't help it if the house is a giant booby trap!" he retorted as Thatcher turned Fraser expectantly.

"Constable, can you find us a way out of here?" she asked, hoping the Mounties's perfect recall skills could remember where they might be according to the floor plans they had looked at earlier. Fraser nodded and glanced around the pretty pink and white bedroom.

"Hmm..." he remarked to himself, catching Ray's attention.

"What?" he demanded. 'What does Hmm mean, Fraser?" Fraser glanced at him and shook his head.

"Oh, nothing Ray." He evaded moving over to the door and pulling it open, revealing a solid brick wall. "Hmmm." Ray had picked up one of the many dolls from the chest, at the end of the bed to examine it, and now shook it at Fraser.

"Tell me what that means, Fraser." He ordered frustrated. "Or I swear I'll..."

"I'm just thinking aloud Ray." Offered Fraser calmly, closing the door and moving to the pull the curtains back on the only window in the room. A solid sheet of steel was all that was beyond.

"Think louder and in plain American, Fraser. Not this hmmm crap." Warned his partner, growing impatient. Fraser turned away from the window and nodded at him.

"I was just noticing that this room is in pristine condition." He ran a finger over the antique bureau. "Not even a trace of dust." Thatcher ran her hand over the bedspread, it felt soft and clean.

"Hmm." Ray glared at her and questioned Fraser

"So?" he asked intolerantly.

"So, detective," answered Thatcher surveying the room. "This house has been vacant for many years, everywhere else there are layers of dust and cobwebs and most of the furniture is draped with sheets." 

"Exactly." Concurred Fraser. "Someone had taken excellent care of this room, as well as to keep it hidden from outsiders."

"I thought no one lived her?" reminded Ray.

"No one is supposed to be living here." Amended Fraser. "But someone obviously is." Ray shook his head at the idea, just as a chilling cold air moved up his spine, causing him to shiver. Fraser noticed his reaction. "What is it Ray?"

"I suddenly got cold." He remarked oddly, "Like someone opened the window in the middle of winter and let the north wind inside." Fraser licked the tip of his finger and held it up, Thatcher duplicated his action almost simultaneously and Ray couldn't help wonder if Canadians could read each other's minds or if they were all this coordinated. It did seem to be oddly cool in the room, considering the temperature outside and that there was no air conditioning in the house.

"Hmm...:" slipped from their lips and Ray glared threateningly at them both. 

"Even if this room is well insulated," explained Fraser. "It shouldn't be such a difference in the temperature outside. It is roughly seventy-seven degrees outside, yet it feels closer to forty in here." He hadn't noticed the drastic change when they had first came to the room, but now he had to admit it was getting chilly, even Handler and Thatcher in their slight, casual attire were starting to shiver. 

"It's freezing in here." Stated Thatcher, the temperature seemed to be dropping steadily.

"Would you like my tunic, Sir?" offered Fraser, already starting to remove the red jersey. "I adapt much better to cold." Thatcher nodded absently, as he helped her slip her hands inside, buttoning in up, though not all the way, and rolling up the sleeves.

"Thank you, Constable." She allowed, feeling slightly foolish in the oversized tunic, even though it was deliciously warm and smelled lightly of what she believed to be cinnamon. Kowalski had already removed his jacket and had draped it over Handler's shoulders, receiving a surprised but grateful look. 

Sometimes, when the detective did something so honestly sweet, she didn't know how to react, but he seemed to have already forgotten his action as he started rummaging through the drawer small vanity. She observed the muscled torso under the stretched material of his gray T-shirt, the way his shoulder's flexed automatically to accommodate the weight of his shoulder holster and the sight of the tight blue jeans that fitted his hips almost indecently. 

"What are you looking for, Ray?" inquired Fraser, his gray RCMP shirt matching Kowalski's but the yellow and black suspenders that supported his jodhpurs clashed slightly against the gray.

"Every little girl keeps a diary, Fraser." He explained, moving to the drawers of the nightstand. "If we find that, maybe we can figure a bit more into the big picture.

"Well, Ray," began Fraser, his high sense of ethics nagging at him. "A diary is a highly personal thing, we probably shouldn't..."

"Just help me look, Fraser." He demanded with a sigh. "We'll work out the morality of it later." Fraser nodded and checked in the small roll top desk. Both women watched them for a moment, then crossed over to the bed and simultaneously pulled the heavy mattress back on either side; the small leather bound book was on Handler's side.

"How did...?" questioned Ray, surprised.

"All girls hide their diary's under their mattress, Detective." Explained Handler, tossing the book to him.

"Even Canadian ones?" he asked Thatcher who smiled and nodded. "What'ya know, learn something knew everyday." He sat down on the bed and opened the diary, despite Fraser's objections. He skimmed a few of the first pages then skipped to last few entries. He selected one which was dated May 21st, 1945, and as he began reading , Thatcher who had been standing closest to him, slowly spoke the passage aloud, in a voice that was not entirely hers.

__

"Mama and Papa had another terrible fight. Mama said she would leave and take me away with her and Papa said horrible mean things. I have never heard him so angry. I don't want to go away, I love Papa, but I love Mama too and she says that Papa had become obsessed with this house, and that we can no longer live here."

Ray glanced up from the passage and noticed the others were staring at Thatcher too, Fraser was especially concerned.

"Sir?" he asked confused, but Thatcher appeared not to hear him, as she began to recite the next entry. Ray turned the page, trying to ignore the spookiness of the whole situation, as the May 24 th 1945 entry began.

"I have not seen Mama for three days now, ever since their fight. Papa says she has gone to visit Aunt Sara, but I cannot understand why she would leave without telling me. Also I saw that her clothes were still in her wardrobe closet and her shoes lined along the floor. Papa caught me in there and was terribly angry, saying I was spying where I shouldn't be. I called Aunt Sarah and she said my Mama was not there."

May 26th, 1945

__

"I cried for my Mama but she did not come. I am afraid my Papa will make me disappear too and he has locked me in my room and won't let me out. I wanted to open my window, but Papa had put something in front of it and I can not see outside. Papa has not been to see me for two days now, since I was in his and Mama's room. I am hungry and have not eaten. I need to use the bathroom and must use a pail I found in my closet. Why won't Papa come and let me out? Has something happened to him?"

Ray swallowed the lump that rose in his throat and tried to control the steady rage that was rising within him. The child's handwriting was getting more erratic and messy. The last entry was difficult to read. Thatcher continued onto the last entry, as the others listened both in fascination and shock.

_"I do not know what the day is, but I think it may be Thursday. I do not now how long I have been without food or water and I have still not seen Papa. It is difficult to write and I am very tired. I hear noise outside my door, but no one answers when I call and I am too weak to try and go to them. I think I may be dying. I think Mama is still here in the house waiting for me. I will rest now."_

Suddenly Thatcher fainted, Ray and Fraser just barely catching her before she hit the floor. Fraser scooped her into his arms and patted her cheek, calling to her in an attempt to get her to awaken, while Ray checked for a pulse. They had all been spooked by what they had just witnessed. Finally Thatcher started to wake and she seemed startled to find herself on the bed with the two men leaned over her worriedly. Fraser's hand was on her cheek, Kowalski was holding her hand.

"W...what happened?" she asked sitting up slowly, with Fraser's support. Fraser told her what had occurred and she looked at him as though he had gone mad.

"It's true." Urged Ray, seeing the disbelief in her eyes. She pushed away from them and set her feet on the floor.

"Don't be absurd, Ray." She denied. "People don't go around acting possessed or something." She sniffed as she rose and straightened Fraser's tunic over her. "I don't believe in such...." Suddenly she stumbled backwards, into Fraser's arms. She put a hand to her temple as Ray hopped over the bed to help Fraser steady his superior officer.

"What is it, Sir?" Fraser asked worriedly as she licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry.

"I...I don't know I..." She threw her head back. "Papa! Mama! Help me!" Thatcher's hand flew to her mouth, as she realized the sound had come from her, but was not her voice. She stared helplessly at Fraser and he could see the fear in her eyes as she started to walk toward the door and pound on the wood, crying to be let out. Fraser caught her hands, to keep her from hurting herself and she struggled against him, sobbing.

"Leave her alone!" he demanded to whom ever was tormenting her. "Release her!" When she suddenly sagged unconscious against him, he was unprepared for the total relaxation of her muscles and she almost slipped out of his arms to the floor, but he caught her and lowered her gently. Handler placed a hand against her forehead concerned; Thatcher was burning up but it was still frigid into the room.

Kowalski, who had been frightened by the scene unfolding before him didn't know what to do, until he saw the whisper of white out of the corner of his eye. He spun around and faced the girl, who smiled sweetly and held out her hand to him. He hesitated, his fear rooting his feet to the floor, but then he suddenly relaxed, it would be okay. HE reached out to her and promptly disappeared as their hands met.

"Ray?" called Fraser, looking away from Thatcher for a moment. Where was his partner, who'd been standing there just seconds before. "Ray!" They helped Thatcher to her feet, who had finally come around again and Fraser let her lean on Handler until she got her bearings, while he searched the room for the lost detective.

"Where is he?" demanded Handler, her voice a higher pitch than usual, perhaps from the anxiety they were all feeling.

"There is no way out." confirmed Fraser, lifting the checking the walls again. Suddenly a bookcase slid forward and an old woman stepped forward. She wore a pale grayish dress, that looked worn from too many washings, her white hair was pulled back in a tight knot at the base of her neck, her skin was pale and her eyes hollow. Handler thought she looked like a zombie from a movie.

"You don't belong here." She stated accusingly. "You must leave." Fraser attempted to be diplomatic. 

"I am Constable Benton Fraser," he began and she waved a knurled, impatient hand at him.

"I do not care who you are." She rasped, "You must leave."

"We'd love to." Assured Handler approaching her, then watching the woman back up skittishly. "But we couldn't find a way out."

"You allow your servant to speak out of turn?" the woman demanded, throwing a scathing look at Fraser.

"I beg your pardon?" imposed Handler indignantly, but Fraser held up a warning hand, a strange look in his eyes.

"May I ask, " he started gently. "Are you Mrs. O'Flynn?" The woman glared at him, her dark lips thinning angrily.

"Don't mention that name in this house!" she spat. "Leave, all of you. Now!"

"We can't." replied Fraser simply. "We have a missing friend here in your house." The woman shrugged carelessly, her thin shoulders reflecting the gaunt bones underneath the thin material.

"Then he is lost." She implied easily. "You will not find him, now leave."

"We believe he is with your daughter, Ma'am." attempted Fraser, watching her eyes widen in shock, then narrow in suspicion.

"That is impossible." She hissed. "My daughter has been dead for fifty four years. She would not...she is not here." Fraser suspected she knew that her daughter was here, in spirit.

"Is that why you stay here?" he asked. "Why you keep her room so clean and cared for? Are you trying to find your daughter, Mrs. O'Flynn?" She stared at him with the gaze of a woman who had seen too much suffering in her lifetime, and Fraser automatically pitied her.

"She's here, in this house!" she declared suddenly. "I know this house better than anyone, better than even my husband did and she has to be here." She stepped forward and placed an urgent hand on Fraser's arm. "She wants you here, but I don't understand why. Your friend, she has shown herself to him, hasn't she?"

"Yes, I believe she has." Replied Fraser softly. The woman looked past him to Handler.

"I apologize for my remark." She offered. "It has been a long time since I have seen a ni...someone like you." She amended politely. "I never had a problem with your kind, it was my husband that tried to brainwash me against you." Handler nodded in understanding, the woman was of a different time, and she couldn't help the way she felt.

"It's alright." The agent assured. "Do you know where Detective Vecchio is?" The woman hesitated, torn between her desire to find her daughter and her obligation to help these people.

"I think I may know where she had taken him, " she paused and stared at Fraser imploringly. "But please don't interfere if we find them. Katy may finally show him where she is and I have been waiting a long time for that. She won't show me, I don't understand why, perhaps because she thinks I abandoned her." The woman shook her head. "I didn't purposefully leave my child. My husband threw me out and wouldn't let me come back. He refused to let me see Katy and then when I finally managed to find a way back in, he'd sealed up her room and I couldn't find her. I hid in the house for a year, trying to find her and avoid him. When he finally left I was able to search more thoroughly." She indicated the passage behind them "I found this a little more than two years after, but then people kept coming in and I had to make them leave."

"Like using the tricks we saw the last time we were here," remarked Handler. "The rocking chair and the face." Mrs. O'Flynn nodded. 

"But I didn't put that gas in there, that was that monster that was living in the house."

"Why didn't you just go to the police?" inquired Thatcher.

"I don't trust them." She informed coolly. "They wouldn't help me to see my daughter when Sam kicked me out, I have no reason to believe they'd help me find my daughter's body."

"So you've been here all these years?" wondered Thatcher, shocked when the woman nodded. "How have you survived?" The woman didn't look as though she had been outside in decades.

"I manage." She remarked with a small smile, then she turned back to the bookcase. "Come, let's find your friend." They followed her through the passage, around a winding corridor and up a darkened stairwell. The woman seemed to move well through the darkness, her eyes adjusted after so many years, but Handler was glad they had their lamps still. Mrs. O'Flynn paused beside the wall before them.

"What s it?" asked Fraser softly.

"You must promise you will not interfere." She pleaded. "I've never been so close, please." They all agreed not to let their presence be known if possible and followed her through. The room opened up into a department floor sized attic. She pulled them behind some boxes and pointed to the far corner of the room. Thatcher quickly covered her mouth to silence the gasp that rose in her throat. Ray was sitting in a large overstuffed armchair as the ghostly white figure of Katy O'Flynn danced before him, doing perioutes and high jumps from the ballet lessens she had learned as a girl. Ray watched her smiling and applauded when she ended the number in a split. 

It was strange to watch a ghost dance before your eyes, though if not for the slight transparence around her, you would think she was alive, a young girl trying to impress a young man she had a crush on. Fraser suspected the girl was more then enamored of his partner, and that could be dangerous. Finally, Katy rose and took Ray's hand, odd that she seemed so solid to him. She led him to the opposite wall and pointed.

"I..I don't understand." Stammered Ray, confused. What was the girl trying to tell him. She pointed again to the wall, then vanished behind it for a second. She stepped back through, only half way and extended her hand. "I can't get through there." He explained. She pointed to his gun. "You want me to shoot the wall?" he asked.

Fraser tensed, willing Ray not to misunderstand. That isn't what she wants, Ray, he thought silently, as though attempting to project his thoughts to his partner. They watched Katy point to his gun again and he removed it from his holster. She stepped all the way through the wall and smiled as she placed her hand over his. Fraser knew his partner was in some kind of a trance, as he watched her assist ray in pointing the gun at herself, then at Ray. Herself and back to Ray. She did it three times, until finally Ray nodded as if he understood. Fraser couldn't keep quiet as he watched Ray's fingers tighten on the gun.

"Ray!" he called, standing out from behind the boxes, mush to Mrs. O'Flynn's despair. Kowalski glanced over at him, bewildered, then down at the gun pointed at his chest. He threw it out of his hand as though it had scorched him, and stumbled backwards to stare at Katy shocked. Mrs. Flynn cried out and revealed herself as Katy darted inside the wall.

"You promised!" she wailed at Fraser, who had rushed up to his partner "You said you wouldn't interfere!" She ran to the wall where her daughter had disappeared and threw herself against it, sobbing for her daughter to return to her.

"Are you alright, Ray?" inquired Fraser, concerned by the sudden pallor of his friend's cheeks.

"Yah," he finally replied. "I'm okay, Fraser. What the hell's goin' on?" No one had the opportunity to respond as Mrs. O'Flynn flew at him in a rage. Unprepared for the attack, she managed to knock Ray to the floor and proceeded to pound on him with her fists.

"Bring her back!" she screamed, as Ray tried to protect his face and head, he refused to hit her, even in self-defense. Fraser and Handler finally managed to pull her off of him and he scooted backwards defensively.

"What's she psycho?" he demanded, confused and angry.

"This is Katy's mother." Announced Fraser, still trying to restrain the sobbing woman. "The young girl you've been seeing Ray, that brought you here, Mrs. O'Flynn believes her daughter will show you where her body is."

"It's in there." He declared pointing at the wall the girl had disappeared though. Mrs. O'Flynn shook her head.

"There is nothing behind that wall." She cried brokenly. "No passage way that leads to it, it is just a wall." Ray stood and dusted himself off, he still hadn't understood what Katy had been trying to do with his gun, but he was sure the answers lay beyond that wall. He started to kick at the solid wood surface, his boot making dents in the wall. Fraser gave a comprehensive nod, released Mrs. O'Flynn, and joined his friend. Soon, the two had a small hole broken through and Ray called for a flashlight. He shined it inside, at first seeing nothing but cobwebs and dust, then he saw a glimpse of white and he knew. He tossed the light to Handler and continued their assault. The wood old and some of it had started to rot, so in a matter of minutes they had punched and kicked a whole large enough to crawl through. Fraser shined his light on the remains of the dead girl and sighed regrettably.

"It's Katy." He confirmed and watched Ray's eyes cloud with pain as he crawled back from the wall.

"How do you get up here from downstairs?" demanded Handler as she started to dial her phone. "There is a team down there that can help with this." Mrs. O'Flynn, overcome with emotion as she pushed the men aside to gaze upon her daughter's body, brokenly told her the quickest route.

In a short while, the coroner and forensics team had carefully removed the small, badly decomposed body from the wall and had placed it with the other one in their vehicle to take to the lab. They all stood outside, Mrs.' O'Flynn wanting to go with her daughter, but after being shut up in the house for so long, she was afraid to venture past the steps of her home. Eventually Fraser convinced her to come with them to the hospital and get checked out. They would get the report back on the bodies in a few days and then they would help her prepare for a proper burial for her daughter. They were all still puzzled who the other body had been, the one they found in the pit, for they had assumed it had been the mother.

 

 

Ray Kowalski stood back in the shadows of the trees, as Rebecca O'Flynn arranged the pretty flowers around her daughter's grave. The seventy-year-old woman looked much better, after a short stay in the hospital. Her cheeks were rosy, she'd gained a little weight, so she didn't look so painfully thin, and she wore a simple cotton dress of vibrant green. The large man beside her grasped her hand to help her stand and smiled down into her now vibrant blue eyes, the reflective gold of their matching wedding bands glistened in the sunlight.

Kowalski smiled, thinking it was appropriate that Matthew Marthendow, the fifty six-year old widower, who had originally purchased Mrs. O'Flynn's house to turn it into a bed and breakfast, had offered it back to her, no charge. She accepted, only if he'd become her partner in the bed and breakfast, that she was sure would be a success now that her all the memories and ghosts had been washed form the house. They'd hit it off immediately and were married just two days ago. Matthew has four children and a handful of grandchildren that Rebecca can now shower them with all the love an attention she couldn't give her own daughter.

Mr. Marthendow had, later identified the body that had been found in the pit, as one of the workers he'd hired to renovate the house. They now understood what his co-workers had meant when they claimed the House had gotten their friend, although the official reports had determined the man fell to his death by accident.

Ray watched them walk off hand in hand, then quietly approached the small grave. He knelt and placed the small bouquet of daisies next to the small marble headstone and ran a delicate finger over the name. 

Katharine Jeanette O'Flynn, loving daughter of Samuel and Rebecca O'Flynn. Born 1935 Died 1945. May she walk with the angels.

"You deserve the rest, sweetheart." Whispered Ray, finally allowing some of his own grief to leave him. "If I had had a little girl, I'd have wanted her to be just like you." He still hadn't understood what Katy had meant for him to do with his gun, but he had stopped wondering. She was finally found and that was all that mattered.

He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and glanced up at Fraser, standing behind him.

"She's at peace, Ray." He offered quietly and the detective nodded as he stood.

"Yah, " he admitted. "I know." After a few more minutes, in which neither man spoke, Ray turned, signaling he was ready to leave. As they headed back to the car, Ray glanced back once more at the grave and smiled at Katy waved back at him, leaning to smell er flowers, then lay down upon the soil, her spirit ready to rest. Ray felt a loss as she disappeared, knowing he would not see her again, but then he'd been lucky enough to see her at all. He turned back and caught up to Fraser, thinking about how fragile life really is. Maybe he'd call Handler and see if she'd go to dinner with him, talk about old times. The idea made him smile wickedly; maybe he'd show her how good a dancer he really was.

 

 

 

The End


End file.
